


spar

by debilitas



Series: clearing out drafts [1]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Play Fighting, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trans Male Character, trans mordecai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27230836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debilitas/pseuds/debilitas
Summary: Brick and Mordecai are sat across from one another, campfire crackling. The shadows cast by the flames dance across their faces, only light in the desert for miles.
Relationships: Brick/Mordecai (Borderlands)
Series: clearing out drafts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988098
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	spar

**Author's Note:**

> hey gay people. so back when I was writing everyday I accumulated a lot of unfinished things that are just rotting in my docs so I figured I’d post some. hope someone enjoys<3
> 
> because they are all unfinished, they will end abruptly just fyi. feel free to use my mess as a springboard for ur own work

“I’d tear your skinny ass in half.”

“Do it, then.”

Brick and Mordecai are sat across from one another, campfire crackling. The shadows cast by the flames dance across their faces, only light in the desert for miles. 

They’d spent the day, and the past week, tracking down Athena. It’s like following a ghost, guided only by bystanders and their vague stories. Catching a glimpse of footprints in the sand before they’re swept away by the wind, forever untraceable. 

“Don’t judge a book by its cover, _hermano_ ,” Mordecai adds, voice muffled by the cigarette held between his teeth. He’s propped up against the duffel bag packed with their belongings, mask removed and goggles around his neck. “Did plenty of fighting back on Artemis.”

Brick waves him off, watching gloved fingers fiddle with a lighter, igniting the cancer stick. Smoke billows from the freshly lit cherry and Mordecai takes a meaningful drag, brown eyes drifting shut.

Leaning his head back, exposing the column of his throat, he exhales. Releases two rings of smoke into the night air, then straightens his spine.

“Try me, big guy,” Mordecai tosses something over the fire, and Brick catches it. “Winner gets this.”

Brick opens his fist, revealing a battered pack of cigarettes. Half empty, and Mordecai’s brand of choice.

“Man, you know I don’t do this shit.”

“You want me to quit, though,” Mordecai replies, flicking some ash onto the sand below. “You win, and that’s my last pack. Crush it right in front of me.”

Brick’s often imagined doing just that. “And if you win?” He throws it back.

Mordecai catches it, mouth stretching into a wolfish grin. “Bragging rights. And you quit pestering me about the cigs.”

They watch one another for a moment, blue locked onto brown. Waiting for the other to falter, despite the confidence emanating from both of them. 

Brick doesn’t doubt that Mordecai knows how to fight. The man’s a jack of all trades, reliable on a host of things from gutting bandits to crossword puzzles. Brick’s built for it, though. A lifetime of honing every muscle for one specific purpose, until he could brute force his way through any situation.

They meet halfway, standing beside the fire. Close enough that it warms their shins, then their hands when they exchange a gentleman’s handshake. They look like children playing a game of business deals, copying what proper folks did when they came to an agreement. 

Mordecai throws the first punch. It’s sudden, so abrupt that by the time Brick registers it, a bony fist is already making impact below his ribs. He’s ready for the next one, protecting his torso with the outside of his forearms. 

Both men bob and weave across the loose sand, bouncing on their heels. One blow lands on the underside of Brick’s chin, not hard enough to hurt, but it makes him take this impromptu spar more seriously. With a growl he charges at Mordecai, grabbing him around the middle and taking them further from the fire.

Smaller feet trip him up while he runs, and they tumble into the warm sand below. Mordecai fights like a street kid, scratching at bare skin and kneeing between the legs. It’s erratic and instinctual, fueled by aggressive self preservation.

He scrambles on top of Brick, bracing skinny legs on either side of him, weight anchored on his pelvis. Ducking under another swing, he unsheathes the blade on his back, taking it to Brick’s throat in a single fluid motion.

Mordecai looks absolutely wrecked, hair hanging loose from its tie and pupils blown wide. There are grains of sand in his beard, tiny chest expanding rapidly as he tries to catch his breath. A drop of crimson creeps out from a nostril, and Brick’s heart twinges with guilt.

The knife is held to his throat in a particular position, not pressing into the skin, but close enough for his Adam’s apple to graze it when he swallows. There’s an inherent appeal to the illusion of danger, receiving the thrill without any real threat. Adrenaline still pumps through his system like his life is being threatened, sweat pouring from the back of his neck.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you—“ Mordecai pauses, taking another ragged inhale before smirking. “—Size don’t matter?”

Brick hits the blade’s handle with the heel of a big palm. It flies out of Mordecai’s hand, eyes widening in shock before Brick shoves him off. Pushes him onto the ground, hovering over his scrawny body and trying to hold him in place.

Mordecai squirms onto his belly, trying to claw his way through the sand, hands and knees finding little purchase. Brick grabs his leg, massive hand swallowing up a bony thigh, and drags him backward. Dodges an elbow aimed for his sternum, twisting the arm behind the man’s back, pinning him down. 

Balancing more of his weight on the other man for good measure, Brick leans in close, speaking directly into Mordecai’s ear.

“They did,” he says, a playful edge to his voice. “Never made sense to me.”

Mordecai grits his teeth, struggling uselessly against the bigger man. They’ve both worked up a sweat, the short hairs at his temple plastered to the skin. The nosebleed was brief, leaving a dark stain on his philtrum. He continues to search for a way free, a fault in Brick’s vice grip, stopping suddenly.

Wearing the expression of a man that’s reclaimed the upper hand, Mordecai moves his hips upwards. Brick grunts, instinctively grinding down for more friction and exhaling hot breath into the man’s ear. 

“Somebody’s happy to see me,” Mordecai says, swiping his tongue over chapped lips. “Let me up.”

“Ain’t stupid, Mordy. Tap out.”

“Aw, what’s the matter?” Mordecai chuckles. “Don’t trust me?”

Brick laughs with him. “Hell no.”

The back of Mordecai’s skull makes contact with Brick’s brow. It’s the first thing to actually _hurt_ , sending him reeling with a swear. Mordecai is already climbing back on top of him, sitting just below his ribcage.

Brick blinks the few tears that accumulated out of his eyes. Looks up at Mordecai with a lopsided grin, chest heaving.

“Good one.”

Mordecai mirrors his grin. Loosens the strap of his goggles around his neck and pulls them over his head, dropping them into the sand. Gathers up his loose hair, tying it up high. He’s already stripped down to a black compression shirt, tight material stretching with each exhale.

“I win, big guy.”

Brick grips his waist, maneuvering the shirt higher. “Could throw you off right now.”

“You won’t,” Mordecai gloats, tugging it over his chest. Brick drinks up the sight of the exposed skin, worn from the sun and age. Dark curls are peppered across his flat chest, deep scars starting below either nipple, down to the underside of the pectoral.

Brick suddenly takes hold of the man’s hips, flipping him onto his back with ease. Mordecai responds quickly, legs wrapping around Brick’s waist, blunt fingernails digging into his neck as he pulls him closer. 

Bodies flush together, Brick ruts into him, finding friction against denim. Feeling the mutual warmth through the thick material of Mordecai’s pants, he groans, ducking his head.

“Tell me I won,” Mordecai breathes. His teeth find the shell of the other man’s ear, nipping the sensitive skin. “Say I won, and we’ll take this to the tent.”

The tent has yet to be pitched, neither of them wanting to bother with it. It’s a tattered old thing, grey canvas littered with holes and too small for either man to sit upright in. No matter where they put it, there always seems to be rock right underneath their spines.

Mordecai’s right hand wanders to Brick’s erection. Squeezes his dick through warm denim, fingertips tracing the outline. They’ve done this dance before, but never like this. Not with adrenaline pumping through their veins, fighting for control. _Rough._

Brick’s always thought he spent too many years without Mordecai to rush through the process. Normally, he takes his time, kissing exposed skin and doing his best to be gentle. They’re both too old, too worn out at the end of their long days to do anything but love on each other.

Tonight, though, is different. It’s like revisiting youth, getting a taste of what they would’ve been like had they met twenty-odd years prior. 

Mordecai holds the sides of Brick’s face, looking up at him. Lips stretched into a crooked grin, hair spilling over his shoulders, and gasping for air. The lines around his eyes don’t look so deep.

Brick leans in, speaking against the other man’s lips. “Fine. You…”

“...I?”

Brick nips his bottom lip. Mordecai’s entire body jolts in response, legs tightening around his waist. He calls Brick a bastard through his teeth, and their mouths slot together. It’s much more hurried than normal; loud, desperate, and handsy.

Expert fingers are stroking Brick through his jeans, earning deep, pleased noises from low in his throat. He moans into Mordecai’s mouth, hips thrusting eagerly to match him. 

Blunt fingernails scrape the bare skin of his scalp, then drift below his tank. Digging into the hard muscle of his back, leaving crescent moons in the flesh. Mordecai likes to mark him up, leave reminders of himself wherever he can.

His mouth moves to Brick’s cheek, his square jaw, then the exposed flesh of his throat. Wet, hot kisses trail down to the nape of his neck, where Mordecai bites down. Just enough to sting, make Brick wince and move closer, gripping protruding hip bones.

He finds no reprieve. Mordecai is unyielding: scratching his broad back, heels digging into the backs of his thighs, biting and sucking marks on his neck. It’ll be an awful sight in the morning, like he’d been mauled by a particularly affectionate skag. 

Slender fingers pop the button of his jeans. Slide the zipper down at an agonizingly slow pace, then trace over the length. Brick twitches in response, sucking a harsh breath through his teeth. 

“I win,” Mordecai repeats, stroking him through worn cotton. His voice is low, hoarse, and smug. “Right?”

It’s getting harder to deny him. Brick’s blood feels like lava in his veins, heart pounding and dick throbbing with need. A hand grips his jaw, holding it in place. Mordecai’s looking at his mouth.

“Right?” He repeats, fingers barely touching him. Brick swallows hard. Mordecai lightly squeezes his face, hand sliding underneath the waistband of his briefs.

Brick groans, all but collapsing onto him. A log in the fire shifts, and the flame crackles loudly. In time with the sharp pop, Mordecai’s callused fingers find his cock, pumping slow. Brick moves his hips to meet him. 

Brick fumbles with the heavy buckle of Mordecai’s belt, only for him to relinquish his touch and scramble out from under him. Brick watches helplessly while Mordecai stands on unstable legs, kicking up sand as he heads toward their bags.

Mordecai retrieves the pack of smokes, placing one between his teeth, and Brick frowns. Belt loosened, his ill-fitting pants are sliding down his hips when he takes a lighter to the cigarette. He looks like he’s already post climax, half naked and taking a slow drag.

Brick’s never been a patient man. He moves closer, balanced on his knees, and comes to a stop at Mordecai’s feet. Looks up at him, watching the graceful movements of his throat, the grey smoke drifting out of his flared nostrils. 

Big hands find his belt, loosening it fully and dragging his pants down by the waistband. Mordecai lazily lifts a leg to let them be removed completely, watching through hooded lids. Brick feels like a field mouse, being stalked by a ravenous hawk. 

Yet another one of Mordecai’s talents: making Brick feel _small_. It can be detrimental during their few arguments, but it makes his heart race in this context. Letting someone else take the reins, shedding a more brutal persona.

His hands easily surround Mordecai’s small thighs, thumb grazing over the dark hair spread across them. His underwear are the only thing that fit him properly, hugging the small bulge of his dick, waistband tight across his hip bones.

A nod of approval, a free hand smoothing over his head, and Brick pulls the cotton lower. Flattening his tongue against the other man’s clit, he licks a broad stripe over it before taking it into his mouth.

Mordecai’s breath hitches, and he says something that’d make Brick swoon if he understood a word of Spanish. He stands mostly still, occasionally rocking his hips toward Brick’s mouth, guiding his head into place.

It tastes a little bitter, and like the sweat he’d worked up during the day. He’s slick with arousal, making easy work for Brick’s tongue. Neck craned uncomfortably, he laps eagerly at the heat, risking the occasional glance upward.

Mordecai occasionally huffs out a nicotine stained laugh, thrusting shallowly into Brick’s mouth. Digs his fingernails into the exposed scalp, thick brows furrowed in the way they always do before he cums, and Brick stops. 

In one swift motion, he tugs Mordecai towards him. Curls an arm around the man’s torso, hugging him against his chest, locking him in place. Brick plucks the cigarette out of Mordecai’s mouth, and tosses it into the nearby fire.

“Asshole,” Mordecai grunts, struggling slightly. There’s no venom in it. Brick tenses the muscles in his arms, using more than a modicum of strength to keep him there.


End file.
